Remnants of Perfection
by Enjolrass
Summary: E/R drabbles. Range from fluffy to vaguely smutty to extremely fluffy.
1. Chapter 1

Enjolras didn't mind Grantaire.

He was disappointed in his drinking habits, yes, and his lack of belief in seemingly anything at all, let alone the republic and the liberation of France. But Grantaire, his presence among the ABC, didn't faze him.

Or perhaps it did. Perhaps that crease in his brow when Grantaire made a snide comment about the rebellion, or the headache he got when he took a drink from that damned bottle of his, was out of concern, not disgust. It was plausible. He cared for the people, and Grantaire was among them.

He'd stayed at the Musain, cup of coffee to the side of the table he'd seated himself at, beside Robespierre and his Latin textbook, currently open in front of him. He often stayed after meetings to do his schoolwork in the back room of the café; he was, after all, still studying at _La Sorbonne_, and exams were fast approaching. Occasionally he glanced up from his Latin work and across the room at Grantaire, who was sound asleep, slouched against a table, empty bottle in hand. The sight earned a sigh from Enjolras, a bitterly disappointed one, and he continued with his work.

He heard the scraping of wood and a sharp breath. This time his head snapped up, his gaze locked on the drunkard.

"S'quiet," Grantaire mumbled. He looked vaguely disoriented, as if surprised to awake here, in the café- despite how often he had done so- and looked around the room for a moment before finally staring at Enjolras. "What're you still doing here?"

He averted his gaze to his Latin book with a frown. "Studying. You ought to get home, Grantaire."

For a moment the room was silent aside from Enjolras' few page turns. He didn't look up, but he could hear Grantaire rise from his chair and push it under the table. Of course he was leaving, or getting more to drink. Most likely both.

What he didn't exactly expect was for Grantaire to, as he glanced up, waltz right over and seat himself beside Enjolras. His arms folded over the table behind the coffee and beside his Robespierre, his chin leaning on his arms, and he fixed his gaze up at Enjolras. He rather distinctly had the look about him of a loyal pup, and to his surprise, that _did_ faze him.

At least, it did for a moment. "Can I help you?"

He didn't mean to be harsh, truly. He was a man of the people. He wished to serve the people. But he could easily be caught up in the intensity of that wish. His gaze would turn wild, raw with passion, and he had long been blissfully unaware that it could be terrifying to men. That terrible stare was often taken as something aloof, something cold and harsh. It couldn't be more opposite of what Enjolras intended.

Grantaire dropped his gaze to Robespierre. "Just keeping you company."

It was an innocent enough gesture on Grantaire's behalf, and it touched Enjolras. "It's late. You ought to go home."

A grin spread across Grantaire's face triumphantly. "As you should."

That silenced Enjolras, not without the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips into a wry smile, and he returned to his Latin. They continued on like this for quite a while, Grantaire keeping watch on the intense, yet to his eye, rather weary, Enjolras, and Enjolras affirmed that he had a solid enough grasp for his Latin exams.

An hour passed more quickly than Enjolras thought it would. His gaze lifted to look at Grantaire- who was fast asleep, face turned toward him on his arms. Enjolras shut his Latin book carefully, stacking his Robespierre on it and pushing them out of the way.

He looked surprisingly peaceful this way, the hints of a smile on his lips, his torso moving ever so slightly with each breath. Enjolras reached a hand out to stroke his disheveled hair, an action that surprised him with his lack of hesitation. Grantaire's hair was soft, his curls easy for his fingers to weave through. His touch was delicate, careful, for he didn't want to wake him. He wasn't quite sure what had inspired him to stroke his hair, but it felt nice. Everything felt nice.

Moments passed, and with a glance at the clock- eleven at night- Enjolras shook his shoulder gently. "Grantaire, wake up. It's late."

Grantaire stirred within a few seconds, eyes blinking open and drifting up to meet Enjolras' gaze. Enjolras pulled his hand from his hair, standing from the table and collecting his books. Grantaire watched blearily for a moment, but scrambled to do the same, watching Enjolras with a wide eyed fascination.

He realized a little late that perhaps stroking Grantaire's hair had unlocked that unspoken part of him that wasn't completely dissatisfied with the drunkard's way of life, that part of him that cared more than he was willing to admit about him. Not just to Grantaire's devoted eyes, but to his own self.

Shifting his books under one arm, he slid an arm around Grantaire's shoulders. "Let's get you home, shall we?"

Enjolras would never mention it, but his heart distinctly fluttered when Grantaire pressed a kiss to his cheek and consented with a feeble, "Yes."

* * *

_A/N: Possibly expect more? I'm incredibly inspired tonight._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: As always, these are all unconnected, random drabbles I've come up with. Enjoy~!_

* * *

This wasn't the first night they'd ended up sleeping together. Not quite _sleeping_ together, but curled up against each other, legs tangled, Grantaire's face nuzzled contently in Enjolras' chest, the feel of Enjolras' fingers playing with his hair.

He'd nearly passed out a minute ago, but then he'd peeked up at Enjolras, and his breath hitched, a smile curling his lips upward. Even in the scarce moonlight that flooded through the window in Enjolras' bedroom, he looked like a god. If anything, the moonlight accentuated his marble skin, and gave the appearance that his blond hair really was glowing. His clear blue eyes bore into Grantaire's own, and the intensity of his gaze, how he could never recover from how beautiful he was, made Grantaire bury his face in Enjolras' chest again. He wound an arm around his torso, grasping the back of his shirt and near clinging to him.

Enjolras didn't mind, he knew, or he wouldn't be here. The thought reassured him, and gave him a chance to calm his heartbeat and his racing thoughts.

He felt Enjolras press his lips to his hair and rest his chin on the top of his head. It felt nice, to simply lay in his embrace, to feel a sudden warm feeling spread through his body at the slightest movement from him, to be able to take in every little detail that was purely Enjolras and sacred, and it was nice to have this a constant in his life. Several times now since their conversation in the Musain, he'd spent the night at Enjolras' house. They didn't converse much, never went as far as innocent kisses and touches, and they always fell asleep rather like this.

Grantaire certainly wasn't complaining, either.

He lifted his forehead to lean in the crook of Enjolras' neck, eyes fluttering shut. He wanted to speak, but his mind was racing with too many thoughts, and yet they all concerned Enjolras. So he spoke. "I love you."

He felt Enjolras shift a little onto his back, keeping one hand in Grantaire's curls and his other arm around his waist, but pulling back enough to look him in the eyes. He didn't regret speaking those words, but they were words they hadn't quite spoken yet, and he supposed he should've expected such a reaction at how suddenly he'd said them.

"I do," he added in a murmur. Enjolras held his gaze firmly, keeping silent, and Grantaire knew he was thinking just as much as he was from the familiar way his eyebrows knit together. "I have for a while. Maybe you knew that, but I have, and I do."

Suddenly Enjolras leaned forward, back onto his side, his face now inches from Grantaire's. His eyes locked on Grantaire's intensely, searchingly. There was something in his gaze, some sort of yearning, and he understood. "It's fine," he managed quietly, his forehead bumping lightly against Enjolras'. "I know."

With that, Enjolras pressed his lips firmly against Grantaire's. He hardly had a clue what was going on. It was so unlike their soft, innocent kisses- this was raw, this was passionate, this was a frenzy of lips and tongue, body pressed against body, wandering hands- and even more surprising, Enjolras let the kiss drag on, half hovering over Grantaire, now cupping his face in both his hands.

It took him a moment to pry his lips away, and he did so slowly, deliberately, which earned a muffled whimper from Grantaire. His eyes flew open wide, staring at Enjolras in utter awe.

"Do you understand," Enjolras spoke between breaths, "what I'm trying to say?"

Grantaire didn't reply. Instead, he kissed him again. That was enough for now.


	3. Chapter 3

He wanted to say it.

Grantaire had said it, and he knew it was true. The way Grantaire looked at him, the little sighs he gave as he snuggled just a little closer every night, the way he pressed his lips a little harder against his when they kissed, as if the moment would fade into oblivion as soon as it was over, but he wanted to revel in it forevermore, he certainly knew.

He knew he felt the same, but knowing it and saying it were two entirely different matters to Enjolras. He felt things in extremes; say, his passion for France, or for the republic. And of his passion for Grantaire?

Should he voice that passion, it, too, would become an extreme. A constant in his life.

And that was a frightening move to make.

He trusted Grantaire. He knew he could, and he should, and that Grantaire trusted him. He knew saying those words would only strengthen them, what they had become. Saying three simple words should not be so worrisome. He was able to give speeches to his friends at the Musain, was he not?

And yet there was… he could scarcely think them. It was so foreign, to think them, to think of saying them, and yet to say them to Grantaire would be to make himself complete.

Enjolras remained lost in his reverie for quite some time, but was jolted from it by a knock at the door. He sent a glance at the clock- it was nearly ten- and smiled.

Grantaire allowed himself inside, shutting the door and holding his hands behind his back with a sheepish grin. They had become so used to being in each other's presence, they'd taken to simply allowing themselves in the other's residence, and to be quite honest, Enjolras didn't mind as much as he would've, were it anyone else. Instead he rose from where he sat in his makeshift parlor and walked up to Grantaire, his smile not yet faded. It never entirely did these days.

Such was the effect their relationship had on his life.

"Working?" Grantaire inquired in a murmur, head tilting and causing Enjolras' smile to widen at just how puppy-like he could be.

"I was," he replied. "Rather… I've been thinking."

At this Grantaire's eyebrows furrowed, but slightly, cautiously. "What about?"

Enjolras didn't respond. Instead, he reached around for Grantaire's hands, pulling them forward and holding them against his chest where his heart would be. Grantaire allowed a bemused grin, still rather curious and confused, but now neither spoke.

He wanted to say it. He had to say it. It was how he felt, how he really, truly felt. His heart pounded, as if his chest could barely contain it any longer, but not out of fear, not entirely. He didn't notice that his breath had caught, that the only sound in the room seemed to be the thudding of his heart, ringing in his ears. All he could think was _Grantaire, Grantaire, Grantaire_.

Slowly, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Grantaire's. His eyes held a familiar glint, one usually reserved for passionate speeches, or heated arguments of politics and the republic, or his love of Patria. _Love_.

His eyes locked on Grantaire's, and for an excruciating moment there was nothing but the sound of his heart and Grantaire's hitched, anxious breathing.

"I love you."

Enjolras froze, shaking his head, but not moving an inch away from him, and corrected himself. "I am in love with you."

Silence. Grantaire's eyes widened considerably at his words, staring into his in pure awe, taking a moment to let his words sink in fully, to understand them. "Enjolras…"

But there was no need for words. Enjolras was kissing him again, with a passion he always knew he contained but didn't think could ever be used kissing _him_, and that was more than enough. Words could wait until later.

* * *

_A/N: Another shortie, but bABIES AHHHHH 3_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Modern!E/R goodness this time around. Also unedited and rather spur of the moment, so have fun. _

* * *

Courfeyrac's parties scared him, to be honest. A bunch of college kids crammed in the Courfeyrac's living room over spring break and under the youngest Courfeyrac's supervision alone meant literally nothing but trouble. Grantaire was almost certain that if you looked it up in the dictionary, you'd just get his friend's face winking mischievously at you.

Most of Courfeyrac's parties involved his father's store of beer, especially this one, with his parents out of the town and the house to himself. Grantaire was the drinker of our group of friends, but the only exception was when Courfeyrac was the one offering up the alcohol. He'd only taken one, and he could already feel the buzz in his brain. No more.

Courfeyrac, on the other hand, was as good as gone- worse than him for once, which was definitely a change of pace. "Come on, R!" he slurred, latching onto his arm with a devious grin. "We're playing seven minutes in heaven and there's no way in hell I'm letting you out of this one." Grantaire was one to skip the ridiculous (and often sexual, thanks to Courfeyrac) games they played at parties like this, but Courfeyrac was a determined friend, and being the center of the group, wanted to make sure everyone was having fun, and everyone was participating.

The last bit was his problem.

But he had no time to protest. Courfeyrac was already dragging him to the misshapen circle of their group, plus Joly's girlfriend, Chetta, and some other girls- most likely Courfeyrac's exes, who were always easily convinced to come. They were nice girls, but too perky for Grantaire's tastes. Besides, had he not had his eyes on another…

Before he could finish the thought he was roughly shoved into a sitting position by Courfeyrac, in between himself and Jehan, who was subtly trying to scoot away from the game. Grantaire leaned over to whisper to him, "You're not making a break for it without me."

Jehan snorted. "On three, then?"

Courfeyrac promptly jumped into the middle of the circle, producing an empty beer bottle. "Everybody gets to spin the bottle, and no matter who it lands on, you're stuck in the closet with them for seven minutes. No evidence, no bueno."

He set the bottle down, and the circle's inhabitants began to murmur to one another. Grantaire shrugged.

"Alright. One."

A knock came at the door. Courfeyrac leaped toward it, grabbed the wall so he wouldn't fall over, and opened it.

"Two."

Enjolras walked inside.

"Three."

Jehan darted away from the circle and up the stairs to hide in Courfeyrac's bedroom, but Grantaire remained frozen where he was, eyes fixed wildly on Enjolras. What was he doing here? He never came to parties- they were a waste of time, they distracted from his school work and his reform planning. What had Courfeyrac done to convince him?

"You're just in time, Enj, we're playing a game!"

Enjolras looked less than amused. Clearly this wasn't his idea. "Don't make me regret coming at all."

Instead of responding, Courfeyrac proceeded to drag him on over to the circle and seated him nearly right across from Grantaire, who was still staring with an intense fascination. He was as angelic as ever, from what he could see in the darkness of the living room, with his golden hair slightly disheveled, his red jacket hanging open to reveal a white v-neck. His eyes were scanning the circle, and Grantaire quickly dropped his gaze before they could've met his own. Those eyes would've been his undoing.

"Alright, Enj, you spin first!"

With another glance around the group, he turned to Courfeyrac disdainfully. "I hardly know what you're even playing."

"You'll catch on!"

Heaving a sigh- resistance was futile- Enjolras picked up the empty bottle and spun it.

Grantaire's heart suddenly began to pound, so hard and so fast that he thought everyone in the room might hear it, especially Enjolras. At that moment the bottle stopped, but his heart only gained speed. It was going to explode, and he'd almost rather it would. Then he wouldn't have to face such humiliation mixed with pain mixed with some utterly divine, lightheaded feeling.

The mouth of the bottle was just barely pointing toward him.

This time their glances did meet, his eyes wide in whatever emotion he could hardly describe that he was feeling, and Enjolras' swimming with confusion. The poor man didn't even know what was going on.

Courfeyrac eagerly leaped to his feet, grabbing the both of them and towing them to the coat closet down the hall. "Alright, you two, you have seven minutes!" Did he realize who he was setting up? Grantaire couldn't tell, but he secretly hoped that drunkenness was clouding his reason. Maybe he wouldn't remember. Maybe nobody would remember.

He would. Enjolras would.

Damn it.

Courfeyrac briefly let go of the two to fling open the closet door and shove aside the few coats it held plus one vacuum. "Have fun, boys," he sang, giving them a little shove toward the closet and, as soon as they'd even set foot inside, shut the door.

For a moment neither of them spoke. Grantaire leaned on the wall opposite Enjolras, trying to find his form in the darkness. A sliver of light shone through the cracks in the door, and he could vaguely see the remorse on Enjolras' face. His eyes flickered up to meet Grantaire's.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, turning his gaze to the door.

Enjolras sighed. "It isn't your fault." A pause. "I wouldn't, um, suppose…" He reached for the doorknob, trying to turn it and push the door open, but the action was fruitless. The door had been locked from the outside.

_Well played, Courf. Well played._

Another tense silence fell over them, and only the chattering of their friends in the background filled it at all.

"So there's no way we can get out of this?"

He sighed, shaking his head regretfully. "Courf's orders. 'No evidence, no bueno'."

Another pause. Grantaire's eyes were now beginning to adjust to the darkness, and he could see Enjolras' mind working, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. They were running out of time, for which he was thankful for, but out of excuses too.

"I suppose, then," Enjolras began, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if wording his thoughts as they occurred, "if we are merely appeasing Courfeyrac…"

Grantaire blinked. He'd been anticipating rejection, embarrassment- which was still highly probable- and the exact opposite of this. "I, uh… I'm game if you are."

For a moment nothing happened. When Enjolras finally moved, it was only to pull out his phone to check the time- which allowed Grantaire to really see his face, and his breath hitched, but he prayed Enjolras wouldn't notice. "Five minutes."

Enjolras put his phone away, and another moment passed. Grantaire's eyes darted between Enjolras and the door. "If you don't want to-"

"It's fine."

Grantaire was now fully relying on the wall for support, so much was the tension killing him. His eyes fell on Enjolras', and he knew Enjolras could see him now, because he was moving closer and hell if his heart wasn't thudding in his ears now.

Everything was a heavenly blur from there, because Enjolras' lips were on his, Enjolras was _kissing_ him, Enjolras' hands had settled somewhat nervously on his waist, his soft lips were pressed against his, and if that wasn't the most perfect, most blissful, most wonderful sensation in the world, he didn't have a clue what was.

It was all he could do not to return the kiss with as much fervor as he wished he could, but his hands latched onto Enjolras' jacket to very subtly tug him closer, and he could feel Enjolras stiffen, but that went away in seconds and suddenly Enjolras was pressing him back against the wall, Enjolras' tongue was prying at his lips, and his lips were parting like his life depended on this kiss, on this experience, on him. It was awkward, it was sloppy, but it was wonderful, and he wouldn't trade this moment for anything else.

He didn't know how long they remained like this, or when he'd wrapped his arms around Enjolras' neck, or when Enjolras had pressed them against each other, or when he'd given Enjolras a hickey, or when it ended and started all over again, and honestly, he didn't care. It happened, albeit in a closet because they were forced to, and that was enough. Enjolras certainly couldn't have meant for it to get this out of hand, or he doubted it would've happened at all.

Eventually the kissing ceased, but Enjolras didn't move away, and that was fine with him. His eyes, widened with awe, bore into his suddenly softened blue ones. Keeping his arms firmly around his waist, Enjolras ducked his head into his neck, and he could feel his breath against his skin, feel his lips brush against the crook of his neck, and he couldn't help the whimper that escaped his lips. "Enjolras…"

"You're not going to stay, are you?" Enjolras murmured into his neck, then lifted his head, suddenly serious.

He blinked. "Not if I can help it."

Enjolras nodded, and though seeming to have just realized that he hadn't quite let go of him yet, did not do so, instead leaning his forehead against his. "We could sneak out the back once he lets us out."

His eyebrows crinkled together. "If you didn't plan on staying, then why did you-?"

Enjolras never quite answered, for right then Courfeyrac opened the door, a giddy grin on his face. But before any remarks on his part could be made, Enjolras took hold of Grantaire's hand and rushed out in the direction of the back door, Grantaire following in mute awe.

All they heard before the door closed was an indignant Courfeyrac shouting after them, "Well, you're welcome!"


End file.
